


warm and real and bright

by lilibetpride



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010) Fusion, Fluff, M/M, aziraphale and crowley see the light, it’s just fluff guys, the tangled au our boys deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25808014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilibetpride/pseuds/lilibetpride
Summary: Crowley smiles. Soft and real and so unlike what Aziraphale thought the thief was capable of. So unlike what he thoughthumanswere capable of.“That’s the good part, angel,” he raises his eyes to the sky, and then looks back at him,fond, “you get to go find a new dream, don’t you?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	warm and real and bright

**Author's Note:**

> I saw Tangled yesterday and cried thinking about Aziraphale and Crowley, that’s literally all the context you need. I wrote this one in one sitting I just needed to get them out of my system!

“I’m terrified.” 

Crowley turns to look at him, an eyebrow raised. “Why?” he asks, his voice soft. 

“I’ve been looking out the window for eighteen years,” Aziraphale sighs, feeling incredibly silly, “just – dreaming about what it would feel like when those lights _finally_ rise in the sky.” 

He looks into Crowley’s eyes, expecting him to laugh. It was a dumb fear, of course… but Crowley just watched him with curiosity and – _fondness_ , not a trace of judgement. 

Crowley nods, giving Aziraphale the cue to continue. He tries to form the words around the sudden fluttering in his chest. “What if – what if it’s not everything I dreamed it would be?” 

“It will be,” Crowley assures him, like it was the most obvious thing ever. 

Still – Aziraphale knew better than to raise his expectations. Gabriel’s words echo in his ears, making his heart stutter with doubt. “And what if it is?” he asks, trying to sound hopeful, “What then?” 

Crowley smiles. Soft and real and so unlike what Aziraphale thought the thief was capable of. So unlike what he thought _humans_ were capable of. 

“That’s the good part, angel,” he raises his eyes to the sky, and then looks back at him, _fond_ , “you get to go find a new dream, don’t you?” 

And what – _what_ can Aziraphale possibly say to that? How can he put into words what Crowley’s smile and gaze were doing to him?

Maybe Crowley realised what he was doing – or maybe he found something more interesting in the water – because his eyes leave Aziraphale as quickly as they found him, fixating in some point in the distance. 

It was strange. Aziraphale had done everything in his power to escape the silence of the tower, of his _prison_ – and yet when silence fell, he realised there was no place he would rather be but _here_ , in a tiny wood boat, picking flowers from his hair while Crowley sneaks brief glances at him, fondness written all over his features. _This silence_ , Aziraphale found himself thinking, _I could live with this silence_. 

Light appeared in the lake, catching Aziraphale’s eyes. He almost fell off the boat in his hurry to sit and watch the first lantern be released. 

Dozens followed it. _Hundreds_. All of them floating and illuminating the night sky. He stood on the edge, a shaky sigh escaping from his lips. 

It felt – 

It felt like _coming home_. 

Like all those lights he’d seen all his life had been guiding him towards this moment, the moment where he finally was there to see them go up and up and _up._

Like it was meant to be.

Crowley clears his throat, catching Aziraphale’s attention again. He turns his head to see him holding two lanterns on his hands. 

Aziraphale gasped, very _not_ carefully sitting down in front of Crowley again, his smile threatening to tear his face in half. 

_It’s Crowley_ , he thinks. Because he knows – he finally _understands_ what’s all this been leading up to. 

“I have something for you too,” he says, and against all odds, his heart is steady, “I should have given it to you before, but –“ he turns to pick the bag up from under the bench, and against even more odds, his hands are also steady, “but I was just scared.” 

Crowley watches the bag, the lanterns in his hands giving him a haunted look on his face. Aziraphale briefly wonders if it was a mistake, but – _it’s Crowley_. 

“The thing is – I’m not scared anymore,” Aziraphale continues, and his voice wobbles a bit under the intensity of Crowley’s gaze, “you know what I mean?” 

_This is the moment_ , Aziraphale thinks. It wasn’t running through the woods, or convincing a pub full of criminals that their dreams were valid, or dancing in the city, or even watching the lanterns lit up the sky… it’s this one single moment, the one that will define if it was all _worth it_. 

It terrifies him, the thought of Crowley taking the bag with the crown and leaving him. He’s starting to regret his choice of words when Crowley puts his hand – the same one he healed just yesterday – over Aziraphale’s and lowers the bag. 

Aziraphale’s head snaps up and his breath almost gets cut off by the smile on Crowley’s face. Warm and real and _bright_. 

“I’m starting to,” Crowley says, and his voice steadies Aziraphale, grounds him. 

It feels like the world is shifting as Aziraphale takes the lantern from Crowley, his eyes never leaving him – his _smile_ never leaving him. 

_Oh._

_It’s all so clear_ , his mind tells him, _it’s where I’m meant to be_. 

The lanterns float away, circling each other and finding their way through the sky. Aziraphale watches them go, taking his worries and fears with them. 

A lantern is falling, and Aziraphale is quick to stretch and take it with his fingers, steadying it. He lifts it up, smiling. 

Crowley is watching him, he can feel it, and Aziraphale can’t help it but to follow him. He’s been following him for days, he won’t stop now.

He takes Aziraphale’s hand. He can feel it shaking, and Aziraphale somehow finds it in himself to recover quickly from his surprise. They held hands before, when the dancing was over, breathless from spinning and from just _wanting_ to dance with Crowley. 

It’s like the fog had lifted, like Aziraphale was finally, _finally_ looking at the light he’d been searching for all his life. 

Crowley is shining, starlight and lanterns catching fire in his red hair and his golden eyes. He looks like he came out from a dream –

 _Find a new dream_. 

Crowley raises his free hand and brushes a strand of hair away from Aziraphale’s face. And then – 

He doesn’t take his hand back, instead leaving it on Aziraphale’s cheek. 

Crowley’s eyes look like the sun, like pure, unfiltered _light_ , and Aziraphale can’t look away. He tilts his head, wanting to get _closer_ , to chase _this_ dream.

 _His dream_. 

  
He doesn’t know when he closes his eyes, but he realises he’s been left hanging. When he opens them, Crowley’s looking somewhere behind him, his face set in a worried expression. 

Aziraphale tries to turn his head to see what Crowley’s looking at, but the hand on his cheek turns him back towards Crowley. 

“Is everything okay?” Aziraphale asks. His embarrassment disappears to give space to _worry_. 

“Ngk?” Crowley turns his eyes back to him, and quickly tries to put a smile on, “Oh, yes – uh, of course – I’m sorry, angel, everything’s tickety-boo,” Aziraphale can tell he’s lying, but Crowley doesn’t give him time to confront him, “There’s just – something I have to take care of.” 

The boat jerks suddenly and comes to a stop. Aziraphale didn’t even realise they were close to the shore, but Crowley is already standing up. 

“I’ll be back in no time, angel, wait for me here,” he says, not looking at him, and steps out of the boat. 

Aziraphale’s hands are shaking. Hamlet nudges one of them, settling on his lap. His eyes look as worried as Crowley’s. He suddenly feels cold, and almost all the lights have gone out of the sky, leaving him in the dark. 

“It’s alright, Hamlet,” Aziraphale assures him, watching Crowley go, “it’s all tickety-boo.” 


End file.
